


Fellow creatures

by Kangoo



Series: Miscellaneous Warcraft Stuff [9]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: @blizzard stop making me cry, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Unconditional Love and Support
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 05:25:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12881076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangoo/pseuds/Kangoo
Summary: Three men stand and, inevitably, two will leave. It was never meant to be any other way — it is the way of fate, to be inescapable this way.





	Fellow creatures

**Author's Note:**

> _“You hunt... Your fellow creatures?"_  
>  _"Of course. A hunt is only as interesting as the prey is clever!”_  
>  ― M.D. Elster, Four Kings
> 
> Listen as long as Blizzard keeps making me cry about Illidan "Edgier Than Thou" Stormrage I'll keep writing Kael'thas into their cinematics
> 
> Can be considered like a sequel to Save Ourselves but honestly the only common thing is the setting (everything is the same except kael'thas is here for some reason)

Three men stand in the seat of the Pantheon, among stars and the yawning abyss of space. Velen stares in a mix of awe and weariness, tired beyond his years; Illidan waits silently with the careless certainty of one who has faced gods before and went up on top; and still, that red-robed figure stands half a step behind the demon hunter, his face unreadable from where it is hidden in the shadows of his hood.

 

Three men stand and, inevitably, two will leave. It was never meant to be any other way — it is the way of fate, to be inescapable this way.

 

Velen looks at the golden light shimmering in front of him before he turns, speaking words he knows to be meaningless. “Illidan,” He calls, but the man doesn't move. “We've done all we can.”

 

Neither of them have ever been satisfied by this, but Velen has learned to live with dissatisfaction. There is only so much he can do, with or without the power of the Light. Illidan has never learned such things; barely ever remember he's not supposed to do things all on his own. If there is still much to be done, he'll give himself the means to do it. He can't say whether it is a flaw or something recommendable — many good and terrible things come from this stubborn motivation to save the world.

 

“Every choice… Every sacrifice has led me to this moment.” His fel-fire eyes flare briefly, hatred or eagerness he cannot say. “To face _him_ once again.”

 

Illidan has lost everything to his fight against the Legion. His family, thousand of years, his heart and his life, things he willingly gave up and things that were ripped away from him. There is a bleeding scar in his soul, a thirst for revenge that can only be quenched by death or with the blood of something far greater than him.

 

Somehow, it manages to surprise him, this sheer  _avidity_ for revenge on the one responsible for his sufferings, self-inflicted or otherwise. “You… are not coming with us,” He says in growing realization, like something he should already have known.

 

“The hunter is nothing without the hunt,” He says, and he sounds resigned, like he's enunciating a universal truth he has reluctantly made his peace with. “Did you not see this fate, _prophet_?”

 

This sentence, so often heard from him before, rings oddly in the storm-still air of the Pantheon. Less like a mockery and more like a joke, or a reminder of different but similar times. Perhaps there is hope, too, as if he wished it to be true — as if, for an instant, Illidan remembered a time when destiny meant something to him and he missed it.

 

He, too, remembers those many times Illidan has waved his so-called prophecies away like so much parlor tricks. He has seen what blind faith in the future can do to people; the sacrifices done by those ready to force the hand of fate. It has humbled him, to see such change accomplished by people driven by nothing but sheer will and the knowledge that, some day, the pain will have been worth it. He scoffs. “ _Fate_. Our survival was never in Fate's hands.” 

 

The smirk on Illidan's face loses its sharp edge, something like approval in the way his sharp features soften into amusement. There is nothing soft about Illidan but, for a second, Velen can almost believe there could be.

 

He turns to the still mysterious figure at Illidan's right. The stranger stands so still he could be carved in stone; the way he tilts his head, barely discernible unless looking for it, reminds Velen of  a bird of prey — waiting, patient and motionless, for the moment to strike or the call of its master. 

 

He knows, just as he sees it, that he'll be the only one to come back to Azeroth.

 

Illidan does, too. He turns his eyes to this strange figure and his smile is more teeth than anything else, a predator smelling blood.

 

“Will you follow me?” He asks, in the way people do when they already have the answer.

 

“Everywhere,” The other replies. The slight movement of his head reveals a similar expression, joy and a snarl trapped in his throat. “Always.”

 

Here, like this, they are a two-men pack of wolves, sharp teeth behind smiling lips.

 

Velen knows nothing of this man. He is always seen at Illidan's side, a crimson shadow with fire and ashes trailing in his wake. There is something unnerving about his presence, the way he moves around Illidan's movements, dancing around warglaives and snapping wings, as if they were one, something unsettling and touching, too. Never has he seen such loyalty as in this silent lieutenant, not even in the Illidaris who look at their master like the sun and stars.

 

Illidan has lost everything to his fight against the Legion but perhaps he has found something in the midst of battle, too. Something like blood and gold and a hand curling in his own in the darkness, where they think no one can see them.

 

The prophet turns on his heels, his staff hitting the ground in a comforting rhythm. There, beyond the darkness, lays Azeroth; and as he walks toward the end of his own crusade, Velen thinks this isn't such a bad place to call home, after all.

 

“Light be with you, Illidan Stormrage,” He says quietly, knowing he is perfectly heard. A distant part of him wishes he didn't have to say goodbye, but he knows — like he knows the path to the Light, better than he knows his own name — that this is the only end Illidan will ever settle for.

 

Perhaps it isn't such a terrible thing to die far away from home — perhaps, this is where Illidan home has always been. Half a step behind his prey and his own soul at his side, blades in hand and fire in his eyes.

 

( The master of the Legion disappears in fire and light and Velen sighs, a last breath that his two brothers will never get to breathe. Here, just like that, tens of thousand of years of exile and of war end, in a fiery explosion and the stars-rattling groan of the doors of hell closing on Sargeras.

 

Finally, he can rest.)

 

 

T wo  men stand in the seat of the Pantheon,  drowned in starlight.

 

Illidan's blades glow fel-bright, humming in his hands and, to his right, Felo'melorn sings as it is unsheathed. He grins and all he tastes are the ashes swirling around them.

 

“ _At last_.”  He can't wait for it to be done; to, finally, reach the end of his millenniums-long journey. Again, he asks, “Follow me?”

 

Kael'thas smiles, too, eyes crinkling in that way that always makes warmth spread in his chest. The fire of his sword reflects in them, setting his golden hair alight.  He likes it when Illidan repeats himself; likes the way the words echo each other.

 

“To the gates of hell itself, if that's what it takes.” He says, the oath he took when he first knelt in front of him and pledged him his allegiance. “To death and beyond, forever at your side.” 

 

A shared glance and they step forward and into the light as one.

 

(As long as they are together, they cannot die.)

**Author's Note:**

> Come listen to me cry about warcraft on [tumblr](https://youngster-monster.tumblr.com/)


End file.
